


Ten Years

by TheCasualAuthor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Best Friends, Cancer, Child Death, Childhood Friends, Chronic Illness, Death, Elementary School, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Innocence, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic, Kid Steve Rogers, Last Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sick Character, Sick Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Skinny!Steve, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCasualAuthor/pseuds/TheCasualAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are seven when they finally start school. It’s August, and they’re both wearing newly shined shoes, and Bucky’s even got a new shirt. They both end up in the same class, and they agree that is because fate is on their side, and no one or nothing wants to see them parted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr! www.thecasualauthor.tumblr.com

Bucky is five when he meets Steve, and Steve is only four at the time, yet to turn Bucky’s age. It’s because both their mothers are nurses at the local hospital, and neither had anyone to sit their son that day, so they brought them along. They are left to wait in the reception, and promise to be pleasant and nice.

 

“Hi,” Bucky says, because Bucky’s not shy, he never has been.

 

“Hullo,” Steve says, voice barely audible, and his eyes wide and wondering.

 

“I’m Bucky, and I’m five years old,” Bucky states proudly, and looks at the other boy expectantly.

 

“I’m Steve. I’m four,” Steve says, and Bucky nods. Steve is a very tiny boy, Bucky must admit. Of course, few four year olds are very big, but Steve is extra small.

 

“Want to play soldiers?” Bucky proposes, and Steve says yes.

 

After that, they start begging their mothers to come along, and Sarah Rogers and Winifred Barnes can’t help but allow them; they did behave nicely, anyway. After two weeks, Steve isn’t much shy towards Bucky anymore, and after two more, they are best friends.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky is six when Steve first gets sick. It’s in November, because of the extreme cold, his Ma had said, and he has to stay in bed an entire week.

 

It isn’t much fun when Steve is sick, Bucky realizes. They already can’t do a lot of stuff, because of Steve’s many regular ailments. Before Steve, Bucky didn’t know what either asthma, scoliosis or anemia was, but now he does, and he takes them all very seriously.

 

Bucky decides to visit Steve while he’s sick. He makes him a card, and brings it to him. He has to read what it says himself, because Steve can’t read yet, and Bucky’s just learnt the words he’d written.

 

“Hello, Steve. Get well. Love Bucky,” Bucky reads, stutteringly, yet proudly.

 

“Thanks, Bucky,” Steve says hoarsely from where he lays in bed, then falls into slumber.

 

Sarah makes Bucky leave after he sits there for twenty minutes, just watching Steve’s chest rise and fall. He also takes notice of how Steve’s usual pale skin is even paler now, and he truly never thought that could be possible.

 

“It’s probably best you go home,” Sarah, Steve’s mother, says. “You don’t wanna catch what he has, then it will be even longer before you can play,”

 

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers!” Bucky says seriously, because he can’t wait to play with Steve again. He walks home, smiling, already planning all the things the two can do once Steve is well again.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Bucky are seven when they finally start school. It’s August, and they’re both wearing newly shined shoes, and Bucky’s even got a new shirt. They both end up in the same class, and they agree that is because fate is on their side, and no one or nothing wants to see them parted.

 

In class, Bucky is very popular. All the unfamiliar boys and girls want to talk to him and play with him, but no one so much as takes a second look at Steve. Bucky doesn’t mean to, but he’s not used to so many new faces and he is a person who wants to talk to and know everyone, so he kind of loses Steve in the crowd.

 

Steve is very unlike Bucky in that sense; he doesn’t like too many people at once, despite wanting to make friends. So while Bucky gets to know close to all of their classmates, Steve sits in the back of the classroom, alone and worried that this was it; the end of his and Bucky’s friendship.

 

Despite walking to and from school together every day, Bucky unaware of the happenings and Steve playing along, not wanting to upset or anger Bucky, they don’t play together at school at all. Bucky runs around with the other children, tells Steve he will be back in a moment and that he doesn’t need to join because of his asthma. Steve pretends it doesn’t hurt his feelings, and that he doesn’t mind when Bucky apologizes on the way home for forgetting the time during recess, and that he promises to play together tomorrow.

 

This continues, for full weeks on end, and Steve is afraid to confront Bucky. Because Bucky seems happy to have friends who he can play rougher with, even though he swore to Steve he doesn’t mind playing careful when they’re together. Steve doesn’t want Bucky to think Steve is jealous, even though he really is, because jealousy is childish and annoying.

 

After a particularly rough day, when Bucky went home with Eric Jenkins, Steve goes home to his Ma and starts crying.

 

“Oh Stevie, dear, whatever is the matter?” she worries, but Steve can’t answer for nearly fifteen minutes, because he cries so hard into her shoulder. He almost gets an asthma attack from it, too, almost to underline the reason for his life being so tragic.

 

“Bucky has forgotten me! He made new friends and now he hates me!”

 

Sarah doesn’t really know what to say, but she feels a surge of anger on her son’s behalf.

 

“I’m sure that’s not true, Stevie,”

 

“But it is,” Steve says with a whimper. “We haven’t played in a week! And not at all in school, because everyone else are there and he doesn’t need me to,”

 

Sarah spends that entire afternoon comforting Steve, and keeps in mind to talk to Winifred the next day at the hospital. The two have also grown closer after their sons’ friendship, and care a lot for the other’s son as well, so surely she will understand and want to intervene.

 

Steve, however, goes to school the next day with his own plan. He puts it to play during recess:

 

For the past few days, Bucky and his friends have been doing this obstacle course that they made up, and trying to see who can finish it quickest. It only involves running from the grass field, over to the monkey bars, climb them and then run and touch the swing sets. It’s not very complicated, and Steve believes that since he’s set his mind to it, he can do it.

 

So when recess rolls around, he follows Bucky and their classmates to the grass field and gets in line to do the obstacle course. It annoys him that Bucky doesn’t even notice he’s there; he probably thinks Steve is sitting over at the tables, drawing as always. It doesn’t matter though, soon he’ll notice, alright.

 

A few kids go first, Bucky included, and those who finish wait by the swing sets. Bucky still doesn’t notice Steve in the line, only focuses on whoever’s running the course, obnoxiously counting the time along with the others. Then, it’s Steve’s turn.

 

Steve, with his stunted eyesight, can’t really see whether or not Bucky’s paying attention across the lawn, but he goes ahead anyway. He thinks he hears Maryanne say ‘Steve are you sure this is such a good idea?’ behind him, but doesn’t care as he sets off running.

 

Immediately, after only 10 feet maybe, Steve knows it was not a good idea at all. He feels his lungs tighten with both struggle and nerves, but keeps going.

 

“Steve?!” he hears Bucky yell in disbelief from the swing sets, but Steve’s vision is blurring a little and he needs to _focus_ if he’s going to do this. “What’re you doing?!”

 

Running, running, running; he hates that it’s such a struggle for him, but finally he reaches the monkey bars and starts climbing. Reaching for a bar, he latches onto it, his other hand on another and _oh golly_ that is heavy! How is this supposed to be fun?

 

He can’t either see or hear much of anything now, but he tries to stay focused, he needs to. Reaching blindly for a new bar to carry him further, he’s keeping himself up by only one bar, and that is just it for Steve’s lacking muscles. His grip slips and then he falls, straight onto the hard packed soil beneath him.

 

“Steve!” Bucky definitely shouts from a distance, but all that Steve really acknowledges right now, it the thumping ache in his head but also everywhere else. “Steve what are you doing, are you alright?!”

 

Bucky’s distant shouts sound frantic, and careful hands go to turn him around, but immediately lets go when Steve groans in pain.

 

“Oh no, Steve I think your hand is broken,” Bucky cries. He’s crying? “Someone get Mrs. Fenderson!”

 

“’M sorry, Buck,” Steve whispers, voice as broken as his hand (wrist). He opens his eyes, and tries to focus on Bucky’s concerned face above him.

 

“Why’d you do that, punk?” Bucky sniffles.

 

And Steve must be really out of it, because what he’s been keeping to himself (and his Ma, of course) comes tumbling out of his mouth right at that moment.

 

“Wanted to play with you, Bucky,” he says, and finally starts crying himself, the emotional pain much worse than the physical. “I wanted you to think I’m cool and good like the other kids and let me play with you, too,”

 

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky full-on cries now, too. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to forget you I was just so overwhelmed with everyone! You should have said I was being a douchebag I’m so sorry please forgive me!”

 

Steve smiles through his pain, relieved by his friend’s apologies. “S’alright, Buck, I forgive ya,”

 

And then he must have passed out, because the next thing he remembers he wakes up back home, his wrist bandaged and Bucky on his bedside, reading loudly from their homework.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re eight years old and it is Christmas, and Bucky, in the midst of all the fun he’s having, celebrating with his family and getting presents, finally thinks to ask where Steve’s dad is.

 

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed before that Bucky has a lot of things that Steve doesn’t. For instance, Bucky has a big house, and a dad and two sisters, and Bucky has newer and more clothes than Steve and he eats bigger and better meals than Steve does. Still, Bucky complains about stuff more often than Steve, who is always grateful and kind.

 

They’re lying on Steve’s bed, having just eaten some gingerbread cookies and decorated the Rogers’ significantly small Christmas tree. It had hit Bucky then, the major difference between his family’s and Steve’s Christmas traditions. And for the first time, the absence of a father in Steve’s home, had hit him.

 

“Hey Steve?” Bucky says softly.

 

“Hmm?” Steve responds, half-sleeping beside Bucky.

 

“Where’s your dad, anyway?” Bucky says, rushing his words, suddenly nervous for some reason.

 

“Oh,” Steve mutters, silent for a moment. Then, he sits up and faces Bucky seriously. “He’s dead,”

 

Bucky had figured, to be honest, but it’s still sad to hear. “I’m sorry, Steve,”

 

“He was a soldier. I’m going to be one, too, one day,” Steve says, determinedly. “I want to fight for the good cause, just like him,”

 

“That’s really brave, Steve,”

 

“No, it’s just… doing the right thing, I think,”

 

“But doing the right thing is brave! Especially war, I mean… that’s scary,”

 

They sit in silence for a while, Bucky biting his lip, already worrying about an older Steve, out fighting a war.

 

“Hey, how about we read a Christmas story?” Steve proposes. “Ma’s got an entire book of them,”

 

“Yeah, that sounds fun, you need the practice anyway,” Bucky teases, and Steve snorts and hits his arm softly. It’s okay to joke about it because Steve is actually the best reader in their class, and the teacher always makes him read in front of everyone else.

 

Later, with another gingerbread man in hand, listening to Steve reading slowly but surely, Bucky has never felt more content.

 

* * *

 

 

When they’re nine, Steve gets pneumonia. It is pretty much the worst thing Bucky has ever witnessed. Bucky cares about Steve more than he (ashamedly) does his own mother, and seeing him in the condition the illness brings, is close to unbearable.

 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says quietly as he sits down on Steve’s bedside, a book in one hand and a freshly baked bun in the other. “I’m here to read for ya, and brought you a bun from the bakery, too,”

 

Steve, who’s lying on his back with his eyes closed, only makes a small movement, groaning as he does so, which leads to a hacking cough.

 

Bucky’s seen people with pneumonia before, his dad even had it a few years ago, but with Steve it’s worse. He doesn’t think Steve’s weak, because he considers strength and weakness to be in the mind, not the body, but Steve’s body is admittedly weak. With his asthma, anemia and scoliosis amongst others, terminal illnesses like pneumonia is harsher on him than other people; and when physically stronger people than Steve has _died_ from it…. Bucky can’t help but worry.

 

Bucky reads, rather fluently, if he may say so himself. He doesn’t know if Steve can hear him, or process the words being read, but he reads on anyway. Steve has said before, during other illnesses, that he likes hearing Bucky’s voice, and that it soothes him even if he doesn’t know what’s being said.

 

Here and there, he has to stop reading as Steve goes off coughing again and again (sometimes it’s so bad, Bucky has to run and catch Sarah in a frantic worry). Bucky’s heart aches for his sickly friend; kind, caring and brave Steve, who only does good things; is smart and polite and everything good, and doesn’t deserve the obvious pain he’s in.

 

When Steve’s fever acts up in the late afternoon, Sarah makes Bucky leave. He does, but not before giving Steve’s hand a soft squeeze, whispering that he better get well quick so he can eat his bun before it gets dry and they can go play again. He promises he’s got something new and exciting to show him once he can visit Bucky again, thinking that should encourage Steve to get better quicker.

 

As he walks home, Bucky tries to come up with something cool he can get to show Steve when he’s healthy again.

 

* * *

 

 

They spend the 4th of July that Steve turns ten on Coney Island.

 

They’ve both been there before, but never together, so they’re thrilled when the Barnes and the Rogers families decide on a joined trip to the fair to celebrate both Steve’s birthday and America’s Independence Day.

 

Steve and Bucky get to go around alone, so they run off and take every attraction there, but have to end it with The Cyclone when Steve gets sick all over his shoes. They join their parents then, who’ve prepared a little picnic, and Bucky sits, smoothing his hand comfortingly on Steve’s back until he insists he feels better, and eats a whole sandwich to prove it.

 

Later that night, when it’s time for the fireworks, Steve and Bucky lay down on the grass, and watch the beautiful colors in the sky contentedly.

 

“All for you, Stevie,”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The fireworks. Didn’t ya know that’s why we’re all out partying?”

 

Steve giggles. “Funny, Buck,”

 

“Well, might as well be. Dunno what that whole Independence day thing is about, but it can’t possibly be as important as your birthday,”

 

And Steve is silent for a moment, then, and Bucky is just about to turn and look at his friend to find out why, before Steve’s cold, little hand reaches and curls softly around his. A curl in his stomach that Bucky doesn’t understand at the moment appears, but is ignored as Bucky squeezes the smaller hand in his, and continues gazing at the fireworks.

 

* * *

 

 

The year they’re eleven, on the day it’s Sarah’s thirty-third birthday, Steve and Bucky decide to bake her a cake to come home to after work. They bake it at Bucky’s house, because they have more money and more ingredients, so it will be more of a gift rather than an expense for Sarah.

 

“Chocolate cake is best, of course,” Bucky declares. “Or, what’s your Ma’s favorite?”

 

“I think she likes chocolate well enough,” Steve frowns, displeased with not knowing specifically.

 

“Good, cause it’s easier than the cheesecakes and the meringue, anyway,” Bucky knows, because he’s watched his older sister bake both, and although they turn out good, she does struggle. Two eleven-year-olds should stick to simple stuff, like chocolate cake.

 

“Should we wear aprons?” Steve asks, and Bucky smiles delightedly at the thought of Steve in one, so he runs and grabs his mother’s big, pink and frilly one. Steve eyes it suspiciously. “Aren’t you gonna wear one?”

 

“Nah, I’ve baked before, I won’t get messy,” Bucky says confidently. Steve seems to contemplate this for a moment, before he shrugs and grabs the apron from Bucky’s hand. He hooks it over his neck, but struggles to tie the bands on his back. Bucky intervenes: “Here, let me,”

 

He steps up behind Steve, who’s hands leave the bands, allowing Bucky’s to take over the task of tying them. Bucky is careful not to do them too tight, and ties a nice, secure bow, adding to the whole effect of the apron.

 

“There, now you look like a real housewife,” Bucky giggles, and laughs even harder when Steve turns to scowl. A lock of hair falls in front of his eyes, and on some newborn instinct, Bucky reaches out and wipes the soft strands away from his face.

 

It’s a weird moment, as Steve’s wide eyes stare into Bucky’s, then they both laugh it off and start with the cake.

 

It gets messy, alright; flour everywhere and even an egg is wasted as it slips out of Bucky’s buttery fingers, and onto the floor. Steve, bless him, gets flour in his hair, ears _and_ some in his eye. Bucky giggles all along, thinking that if he becomes rich one day, he’ll have Steve bake with him every day.

 

Sarah, although scandalized by their messy appearance, loves the cake. Then, when she hears they didn’t clean after themselves, she allows them to enjoy a piece before sending them back to Bucky’s to clean. They do as told, but tell her it’s only because it’s her birthday.

 

* * *

 

 

When he’s twelve, Steve gets into his first real fight.

 

It was for a stupid reason, well, all fights are, but this one especially, Bucky thought. Bucky’s father had given them 20 cents to go and get a soda each at the local diner. And they’d gone of course, excited for the fizzy drinks, and nothing seems wrong at all; but Bucky should’ve known it soon would be as he saw his other friends, who are older, that he knows from playing soccer, hanging out in a booth.

 

“Hey Bucky!” yells one of them, Adrian, and Bucky feels Steve tense up beside him. Bucky waves to his friends with a smile, but can tell they probably won’t leave them alone.

 

“Bucky, come over!” grins Robert, but Bucky smiles with a little shake of his head, and plops into another booth with Steve.

 

Steve is suddenly a little gloomier and is staring at his twiddling thumbs.

 

“Hey, I’ll go grab our sodas, yeah?” Bucky says, and Steve nods, a small smile in gratefulness on his lips. Bucky gets up and goes over to the counter, where he orders two bottles of Coca Cola. He pays and is just about to go back to Steve, when a hand grabs his arm.

 

“Hey, Bucky,” says Jimmy, who Bucky plays soccer with, and tries tugging him towards the booth he and the others are at. “Come join, we’re havin’ a lot of fun,”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure, but maybe another time, I’m with Steve right now, so,” Bucky explains, softly tugging his arm out of the grip.

 

“Aw, alright. Come over if you get bored, though,” Jimmy says, and something in his tone hints that he thinks Bucky definitely will get bored, as if Steve isn’t the funniest and best person to hang out with in the world.

 

Bucky walks over to his and Steve’s booth again, setting down the Coke’s, and raises a brow at Steve’s scowl.

 

“Hey, lighten up, punk,” Bucky smiles. “Drink your soda,”

 

Steve smiles tightly at Bucky, and sips at his Coke. Bucky can tell Steve’s not in a good mood; it’s practically written on his forehead with the way his brows are furrowed with a wrinkle between them and his shoulders are tense as stone. So his reaction is really only to be expected when one of Bucky’s soccer friends yell across the diner again:

 

“Hey, Bucky! Bored yet?” It’s followed with a ring of laughter, which doesn’t help the case.

 

“He’s all right, _thank you very much_ ,” Steve snarls back at them, and _oh dear save me_ , Bucky thinks as the group breaks out in laughter again. He knows his soccer friends, so he knows they’re assholes, as his dad would say, and he knows what they think of smaller, less fortunate kids… kids like Steve.

 

“Jeez Louise, Bucky,” snickers Adam, who’s nearly sixteen, and the worst of the group. “What sorta prickly little nightmare have ya been forced to babysit, tonight?”

 

Oh no, is all Bucky has time to think, before Steve jumps up from where he’s sat in all his 4’8, bony glory, and trudges towards Adam in anger. Bucky hops up behind him and grabs his arm.

 

“Steve, _do not_ even _think_ about it, y’hear me?” he warns, which doesn’t help much because:

 

“Yeah, Steve-o, you’re literally half the size of me, d’you really think you got anything to go on?”

 

The whole table of soccer-assholes are snickering nastily and Steve tugs his arm out of Bucky’s hand sharply.

 

“I think you should stop being so nasty with your mouth, and do everything else you can to make up for that ugly mug of yours!” Steve growls and _why Steve? dear lord, why?_

Bucky pales and Adam stops laughing as he gets up on his feet, showing everyone the massive difference between his and Steve’s height. Adam must be 5’10, meaning he’s got over a foot on Steve. Brilliant.

 

Steve, however, looks as ready to fight as before, has even raised his (in this situation) admittedly pathetic-looking fists.

 

“Steve,” Bucky hisses. “Get back here,”

 

“No,”

 

“ _Now_ ,”

 

“Best listen to your babysitter, Steve,” Adam purrs, clearly not intimidated, but looks very annoyed.

 

“Do you ever shut up?” Steve spits, and then literally jumps the older guy.

 

Needless to say, it doesn’t end well; Steve ends up with a black eye, a split lip and a bruised rib. Bucky, who tried to stop his reckless friend, got a few blows here and there, but there aren’t any bruises to prove it. They’re all thrown out of the diner, too, but luckily the soccer guys run off in another direction immediately.

 

“Would you mind telling me what the hell that was?” Bucky demands and Steve winces at Bucky’s swear. He doesn’t respond, and Bucky grabs his shoulder when he tries to walk off. “Hey!”

 

Steve winces at the pressure on his shoulder and Bucky immediately lets go. “Stevie,” He says softly, then engulfs his friend carefully in his arms.

 

“I’m so sorry Bucky, I don’t know what went over me, I-” his voice breaks off in a sob and Bucky hugs him longer, waits as he cries out. “I don’t like them. They scare me and annoy me, and they were saying all mean stuff and y’know I’m not that confident even though I pretend to be….”

 

Bucky’s heart breaks into a million pieces because _yes_ he knows that. He’s seen Steve scowl at himself in the mirror, and notices how he runs a hand through his hair twenty times more often when out in public than when they’re safe, home and alone. He knows what people say about Steve, only because he’s small and sickly, and Steve has heard a lot of it, too. It’s not fair, it really isn’t; Bucky bets that if people tried, they’d probably love Steve when they got to know him.

 

“S’alright, punk. Let’s get home and clean you up, huh? And we’ll warm some milk and I’ll read ya some Agatha Christie, yeah?”

 

And they do just that. Steve hates to admit it, but he does love when Bucky does these things for him, even if it feels like coddling. He loves it because it proves that Bucky pays attention to what makes Steve happy and what calms him down.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky is thirteen, and Steve is, too. They’re at Steve’s place, on the roof of his building, where they’ve been all day.

 

It’s been a nice day weather wise, and they’d laid a mattress on the floor of the roof, and brought some pillows and blankets, too. They’d made a little picnic basket, and had with them both books to read and equipment to sketch (they both like to, even though Steve’s probably a million times better than Bucky).

 

Steve’s done about ten sketches, some worked harder on than others. Bucky’s only done two, but he spent some time reading, both to himself and out loud for Steve to hear, too.

 

It’s turning into night time, and the sky is clearer than ever, meaning that the stars are shining bright and visible, and so is Steve’s eyes as he watches them in fascination. He’s discarded his sketch book; put it aside to give all his focus to the stars. Bucky’s focus is, unknowingly, all on Steve.

 

“Hey, look at that big one there,” Steve says softly, pointing shakily, thin, pale arm stretched towards the sky.

 

“Wow,” Bucky sighs, not even looking towards the sky once. “Are you cold?”

 

He asks because he knows Steve’s tells so well by now; they’ve been friends for nearly ten years, after all. He knows Steve won’t admit to it himself, but from the tiny goosebumps and slight stutter in his voice, it’s obvious he’s cold.

 

“A little,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to pull the blanket he’s been lying on up and over Steve. “Thanks,”

 

“Of course,”

 

“I drew you, earlier, while you were reading to me,” Steve says shyly.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky prompts. “Can I see it?”

 

Bucky’s ask is empty, really, because Steve has never shown him his art; it’s the one thing he won’t share with anyone, and Bucky doesn’t mind, even though he really does want to see it, someday.

 

“I…” Steve hesitates, then takes a breath. “If you promise you won’t laugh,”

 

“What?” Bucky has to sit so he can see Steve’s face properly. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah… I kind of want to show you,” Steve has never looked so uncomfortable. Nor has he looked so earnest. Bucky’s heart tingles excitedly.

 

“It would be an honor,” he says seriously, ignoring Steve’s nervous snort. “I won’t laugh, not on my life. I bet you’re amazing, anyway,”

 

Steve reaches for his sketchbook, holds it so Bucky can’t see, and flips through the pages. He reaches the page he must have wanted, and stops. Breathing in and breathing out, Steve’s cheeks seem to flush by the second; he takes a particularly huge breath, then holds it as he shoves the book towards Bucky, and looks away.

 

Bucky’s breath is ripped from him as his eyes take in what’s before him. He was right; Steve is amazing. The sketch is admittedly obviously drawn by someone young, but still, seeing that Steve is only thirteen, it is truly incredible. Bucky can even tell that the drawing is supposed to be of himself, with the way Steve has gracefully captured certain aspects of him on the paper. _Wow_ , is all he can think, and his eyes flutter up at Steve.

 

Steve is watching him nervously; eyes wide, cheeks flushed, his hair flopping in the slight wind.

 

And it hits Bucky like a mountain falling from the sky. Steve is the most incredible person in the entire world. He is the entire world. Bucky’s entire world. He loves him. Bucky loves Steve more than anything in the entire world. His skinny limbs, his floppy, blonde hair, his pale, soft skin, his wide, bright blue eyes with unbelievably long and dark lashes, his loud laugh, his red, pouty lips that can stretch into the most wonderful, stomach flipping smile.

 

Bucky never thought he would fall in love with a boy; but he should’ve known he would fall in love with Steve.

 

* * *

 

In April, when Bucky only a month ago turned fifteen, and Steve is still fourteen, they realize that Steve is sick. Very sick.

 

It isn’t the kind of sickness where Steve had noticed; he’d just felt some ache in his lungs now and then, and blamed it on his asthma. It wasn’t asthma. It was a new illness, one Steve had never had before, one of what they call a “chronic illness”, one that makes Sarah cry at night, one that can’t be healed.

 

And it had gone from realizing something was more wrong than usual, to getting diagnosed, to it getting really bad in only a few weeks. Steve had gone from being his usual self one day, then quickly growing more tired by each day, refusing to eat or drink because if he tried he puked it up again, his breathing even noisier than before (which went awfully with his asthma), and unexplainable confusion where he’d sit and talk one moment, then suddenly ask where he was and what day it was.

 

And so here they are; sitting on Steve’s couch, Bucky refusing to leave his side, afraid of what might happen when he isn’t there. Neither boys have been in school since the diagnosis, but their teachers have sent homework home and well wishes. Bucky is pretending to be calm, as he pretends to read the words in the book in his lap, but truthfully, the words are all meshing together.

 

Steve is sketching, probably Bucky again; for over a year he’s been Steve’s favorite subject to draw, and he doesn’t object. Steve always shows him the sketches he does of him, saying he thinks it’s only fair, but Bucky knows Steve loves to see his reaction to his ever improving skills. It is then, in a moment as innocent as any other, that Steve gasps and throws his sketchbook onto the coffee table.

 

“Steve?” Bucky asks worriedly. He drops his own book, and when Steve stands, blanket hanging around his hips, Bucky stands too. “What is it?”

 

“I-,” Steve whimpers, his cheeks redden as much as they’re able to, now. “Oh my God,”

 

“Stevie?” Bucky steps forward; Steve steps backward, grips the blanket around his hips “Tell me, it’s okay, tell me, please,”

 

“I didn’t mean to, it just happened,” Steve whispers, choking on a sob. “Buck,”

 

Bucky steps forward again, his heart beating crazily, hands shaking. “Steve,”

 

“I-…. I w-wet myself,” Steve spits and starts crying. “I didn’t even notice, it just happened, Bucky, I’m sorry,”

 

Bucky reaches Steve and pulls his shaking friend into his arms. “No, no, Steve, don’t be ashamed, don’t be, hey, it’s the illness, you know it is. Not your fault, not at all,”

 

Sarah is at work, so it’s Bucky’s responsibility to look after Steve. He helps him wash up in the bathroom, much to Steve’s distressing protest. Then, he wraps Steve up in clean, warm clothes and they head to the bedroom, where he wraps him up in blankets, and lays down beside him. He knows Steve hates this, to be babied, but Bucky can’t help it. He wants to help Steve all he can.

 

Steve falls asleep, his heavy breathing meshing with snores he never used to have. Bucky lies there, watches his pale face, tears slipping down his face. Of all the people, it had to be Steve. Bucky has cursed whatever decides fate every time Steve has fallen ill, but this time, he doesn’t even know what to say. Steve has suffered from close to every ailment known to man, and now he carries the weight of the worst of them all.

 

When Sarah comes home, she checks on Steve quickly before going to cook dinner. She’s making pancakes, she said. Steve’s favorite. Bucky doesn’t comment on her red, swollen eyes.

 

“Buck,” Steve breathes, apparently awake again.

 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, puts the ghost of a smile on his face. “How you feelin’?”

 

“I want to go to California one day. Draw the coasts and beaches,” Steve says instead, ignoring Bucky’s question. “Do you promise we’ll go? One day?”

 

“Of course, Stevie,” Bucky nods, his thumb absentmindedly stroking Steve’s hand that he’d not even realized he was holding.

 

Steve falls asleep again, his snores lighter this time, but his breathing scratchy and uneven.

 

Ten minutes later he wakes again: “Did you take the cake out of the oven?”

 

“What?” Bucky asks, frowning. Did he ask about a cake?

 

“The cake. Can’t let it burn. It’s for Ma,” Steve mumbles, clearly out of it.

 

“Steve, there’s no cake?” Bucky says, confused.

 

“What?” Steve drowses, before falling asleep again.

 

Bucky frowns; he can hear Sarah in the kitchen, pots and glasses making normal kitchen sounds. He can also hear her sniffles; she must be crying again.

 

“We have been friends for ten years, Buck; just wish it could be a hundred and ten more” Steve suddenly says, but looking down, Bucky can see his eyes are closed, and a soft snore follows after.

 

Sarah comes in with a plate of pancakes. She says it’s for Bucky and that Steve can have some when he wakes up. Bucky can’t say he has much of an appetite, but eats anyway, not wanting to waste Sarah’s wonderful cooking. Sarah stays for a moment. She drags her hand carefully through Steve’s hair, her eyes trace his face sadly and scrunches up into a sob, then she leaves the room.

 

Bucky knows, this time, that it won’t be like the others.

 

A few days later, after a lot of semi-consciousness, refusing to eat and confusion and disorientation from Steve, Bucky’s had enough. They’re lying in bed again, Steve in the crook of Bucky’s arm, half-asleep once more, while Bucky sits, feeling on the sort of hollow, anxious emptiness tugging at every part of him.  

 

“Bucky,” Steve speaks, startling Bucky a little. It’s spoken with a sort of clarity he hasn’t heard from his friend in over a week, and it scratches the small bit of hope left in his heart.

 

“Yes, Stevie?”

 

Steve moves a little, as if he’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t look up when he speaks next, voice exhausted again. “I love you,”

 

Bucky gasps quietly, breath catches in his throat.

 

“In, you know, the special way,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky feels a lump in his throat. Steve’s innocence only goes to prove how young and undeserving he is of everything he’s had to go through. “I wanted you to know,”

 

Steve is slightly writhing now, in obvious discomfort and probably the never-ending pain.

 

“I love you, too, Steve,” Bucky whispers, but at the volume that he knows Steve can hear. “More than anything,”

 

“Oh,” Steve sighs, and it’s so weak. So, so weak. Bucky knows what is happening, now.

 

He sits up a bit, so his arm is still under Steve, his frail body still warmed by Bucky’s, but Bucky can see Steve’s face, and the other way around.

 

Steve’s eyes are halfway open; his lips are terrifyingly pale. Bright blue eyes examine Bucky’s most likely frightened face, and then they shut. Steve’s breathing is still loud and obnoxious, but fading with every passing second. It’s Bucky’s last chance; he leans down and lets his lips touch Steve’s cold once softly. Letting them linger for a brief moment, Bucky closes his eyes. When he breaks them apart, Steve’s lips have formed the smallest smile.

 

And then, he stops breathing.

 

Bucky’s heart stops. But not like Steve’s. A shocked, disbelieving gasp leaves Bucky’s throat, as if he didn’t know how this would end.

 

“Steve?” he croaks. He lets out a whimper when there is no response. “No,”

 

Tears start dripping, onto Steve’s cheek, and the pillow next to his head. Bucky feels like he’s on fire. Everything hurts more than it ever has.

 

“Sarah,” he tries to yell, it comes out as a squeak. His next shout is louder, terrified. “Sarah!”

 

Everything next is a blur. Sarah comes rushing in, her eyes don’t even have to take in the situation before her before she starts howling, sobbing, throwing herself over her son’s side, crying, one arm around Steve and one around Bucky.

 

Steve lies still, in less pain than he has ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry
> 
> i hope i put every warning necessary, but if you can think of any i forgot PLEASE LET ME KNOW
> 
> i did some thorough research for this, i didn't want to get things wrong or make it disrespectful. cancer is a the moment something i'm very vulnerable about, as someone i know has been diagnosed with it. my way of dealing is writing. i wrote this horrible thing and it didn't really help me deal.
> 
> this isn't really beta-ed, btw. maybe i'll go back and do it but i'm tired and want to post this, so
> 
> hope you enjoyed? again, i'm sorry


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